I have been waiting for Sept. 9th for awhile now. Charlaine Harris had found a way to keep life in her new series past the third book:
Bring a secondary character into the forefront as I have done with various series of mine.
Now, something has gone wrong. I can get the kindle and hardback still ... but not the audiobook!
Even the ghost of Mark Twain is bummed.
DID YOU KNOW AUDIOBOOKS CAN IMPROVE YOUR WRITING?
A) NO SKIMMING ALLOWED
C'mon, admit it: you skim over the "boring parts" as you read print. It's instinctive by now. But skimming robs you of the power and purpose of the words you skim!
B) AUDIO LETS YOU CATCH THE PACE, THE FLOW OF THE WORDS
The sounds of the words will bleed into your own writing. You will begin to "see" words as images. It will limit your use of HE SAID/SHE SAID in every line of dialogue. Don't tell me those words are invisible to readers -- only to you as you block them out as you write.
You'll discover new ways to add pauses to the spoken lines.
C) YOU'LL HEAR THE WORDS AS YOU WRITE THEM
Maybe in your voice. Maybe in the voice of your favorite narrators. It will spotlight "kinks" in your paragraphs.
The audio's will create a Theater of the Mind letting you see words as images.
D) YOU'LL "READ" MORE
Stephen King stresses that the more you read the deeper your perspective will be in your books.
You'll read in places you couldn't with a print book: in bed, exercising, gardening, commuting. You'll discover favorite narrators and seek out books they narrate no matter the genre and
your literary horizons will expand, enriching your prose, breathing new ides into your future novels.
E) YOU'LL LEARN
AUDIBLE has its DEAL OF THE DAY: I got Arthur C Clarke's 2001 for $2! The intro was by Clarke himself, detailing the unique way he wrote the book. I got BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S read by Michael C Hall of DEXTER fame (great narrator) for $2! Craig Johnson of LONGMIRE fame detailed at the end of one of his books the origin of his hero and how he writes. Great lessons.
F) YOUR OWN AUTHOR READINGS WILL IMPROVE FROM LISTENING TO PROFESSIONALS.
G) YOUR VOCABULARY WILL IMPROVE
You'll learn new words from their use in context of the action of the novels.
You'll repeat crutch words less as you insert the new words into your prose.
shall not be the worse for this - I promise you. You will be much the better
for it. Just believe what I say, and do as I tell you. ”
no Sentient, She wanted me to call her Sentient.Anyway, obviously, Sentient didn’t believe in
giving me a break.
snowflakes thinned slowly, then faded altogether.
on my feet violently. No one around me noticed. They were clearly too busy being
terrified. Salty wet spray splashed on my feet.
I was in
one of the Higgins landing crafts I had just been talking about with General Bradley.
The man still could not stand looking at me … all for something I had no memory
Sentient had been in full control then. Nine out of ten of us would be killed on that damn beach ahead of us.
Would me bring killed just now satisfy
must hate me.
dumped on Omaha Beach with Sgt. Savalas that midnight to collect sand samples to
be studied to see if tanks would sink or not was bad enough. Now this.
head, Sentient was murmuring to just trust Her. Yeah, right. The man beside me
was spilling all the bullets he was trying to push into his pistol clip.
as a strange thing happened: like in the credits of some movies, words appeared
beneath his face. I read:
Amos Stein. Lieutenant, father of one daughter, Rose, husband of Ruth Goode Stein. At 31 years of
age, he was already accomplished before enlisting. He followed in his father’s
footsteps, became ordained and received a PhD. Enlisted after the M.S. St.
Louis filled with 937 Jewish refugees was denied permission to dock in Miami and
turned away. A third of the passengers to be later murdered.
still me … so far. I reached out and gently took the pistol from his trembling
fingers. “Here, Amos. Let me.”
hand tingled. Suddenly cold bullets filled my palm. I thumbed them carefully, calmly
into the clip as I had seen him try to do.
I gently handed
it back to him. “All ready to fight the Nazi Scourge.”
often said that we all died alone. Maybe. But if you died next to someone who
was just as scared as you, someone who you had touched in a small act of compassion,
and whose life was made the better by it even in some small way, did it help?
I would soon
was still a bit slack. “H-How did you do that? W-Where did the bullets come from?”
Ismiled sadly. “It’s a kind of magic.”
you are to have someone that makes saying goodbye so hard."
lessons one learns at St. Marok’s are not always the ones this school thinks
– Richard Blaine
Mayfair shook her head as if by doing so, she could shake loose the attacking
thoughts stinging her mind.
of that. I truly wonder if Miss Treadwell graduated from an accredited college at all,
judging from the way she used, or should I say, misused the Dewey Decimal
System. The books in this library are all terribly misplaced and sorted.”
looked at me impishly. “You do know the Dewey Decimal System, do you not?”
returned her look. “It’s one of the few systems I live by.”
then, you go to the far end of this library, and I shall start here by the desk
rearranging the books properly. We will meet in the middle as do all
only a few minutes, it was plain her plan would not work, and she muttered,
“This is horrendous. Why did Stearns hire her if she knew so little about
I did not
think he hired her for her brains, but I kept that to myself. It might lead her
to thinking how he had tried to “sell” her to one of the houses of
prostitution around this orphanage for her body. Least said, least egg on my
face, and one less foot in my mouth.
and said nothing. I caught my heart beating faster as I walked closer to her. I
frowned. First love is dangerous only when it is also the last. Sadly, first love is only slightly less perishable than human life here in the French Quarter.
I was surprised
to see the thin, stiff-bound “On the Perceptual Content of Quantum Theoretical Kinematics and Mechanics” by Werner Heisenberg in my right hand. Though it had
been written in 1927, I still found it fascinating.
Mayfair’s face went suddenly pale as she looked over my left shoulder. La merde.
I turned around, expecting the worst and getting it. “Bent” Murcham.
Where the late unlamented Donny
Jenkins liked to hurt people. “Bent” liked to kill them. He had proven more useful
to Stearns than Donny. So much so that the Headmaster had gotten rid of all his
victims, not just the ones Stearns had pointed out to him.
"Bent" flashed a shark’s smile. “You never made it to your cot at the dorm last night,
Dickie boy. And we had such a nice party planned for you and everything.”
grew as cold and flat as wet stones on the beach. “Me and the boys liked Donny and Stearns.”
His face grew as remote as a surgeon's face might just before he amputated a leg. "You should fear us."
ran my fingers across the whole world
where does it hurt?
- Warsan Shire
“For Man there is no being good, merely no present opportunity to be
always something of a bother to time date these entries.
You see, I
have hopscotched along realities and possibilities for so long that I should
have mental whiplash.
In a time yet to be, a strange
fellow with the stranger name of Snoop Dog told me: ‘You’ve got to go back
in Time if you want to move forward.’
Childhood is pretty far back,
start there, shall we? For as long as I can remember, I have heard the Voice.
Not voices, mind you. I am crazy. Just not that crazy.
are religious, you might be thinking Isaiah 30:21 Whether You Turn Right or
Left, Your Ears Will Hear a Voice Behind You, Saying, This is The Way; Walk in
never thought the Voice was God’s since it was female. One of the first things
God made was Man. If God was female, the first thing She would have made would
have been chocolate.
was always faint. Sometimes nearly loud enough to understand a word or two …
but not quite. It was quite maddening.
nightmares, the Voice sounded louder if I took one way or lower if I took
another. The nightmares went better if I went along down the loud path. But not
always. I guess that fearful uncertainty was what made it a nightmare.
could a kid have nightmares about, you ask? I was an orphan at St. Marok’s
in New Orleans. If you were a native of the “Twilight City,” that last
sentence would explain everything. Of course, the radio and newspapers being
full of Hitler steamrolling all across Europe did not exactly fill my head with
visions of sugar plumbs as dance partners.
the waking hours in St. Marok’s were nightmare enough. Located in one of the
most dangerous parts of the French Quarter, it received no church or city
funding. How Headmaster Stearns kept the place running was a mystery to me. Why
we were all malnourished and hungry was not.
prettiest of the girls and most handsome of the boys found enough food on their
plates. The rest of us were not envious. Those orphans soon disappeared.
was that Stearns sold them to the different “Houses of Pleasure” all
around us. Was it true? Who knew? I just knew I was glad I was nothing special.
I kept to
the middle of the pack. The scared, dumb
orphans hunched in the far back. They may as well have hung a sign around their
necks in red paint: ‘Don’t pick on me.’ What bully could resist that,
smarter than that. Too smart … and stubborn. I refused to do less than my best
in all the tests. That particular bit of brilliance on my part shone a
spotlight on me for all the dim-witted but burly bullies.
brought me to the attention of Sister Ameal and let me know that the Voice
could do something that scared me to the bone.
fateful morning, I heard a low buzzing in my head as I started down the second
story stairs to my algebra class. Suddenly, my whole body twisted sharply to my
right smack up against the wooden railing without my willing it.
Jenkins flew past me as he missed the shove he had aimed at my back. He tumbled
awkwardly down the stairs to land with his head bent all wrong. I did not have
to be a doctor to know he was dead.
the first floor, Headmaster Stearns roared, “Mr. Blaine, what did you just do?”
else was wrong with me? The Voice was bad enough. Now, this?
still spinning from having lost control of my body to some outside force, I
said the first thing to come to me. “Got
out of his way, sir.”
A few of
the knuckleheads behind me chuckled at that. Stearns was not amused. I cursed
at myself for not thinking before I spoke.
think that funny, Mr. Blaine?”
out of a fear-thick throat, “N-No, sir.”
not, young man. You have just bought yourself a one-way trip to the reform
school with that stunt.”
has not, Stearns!” a harsh voice snapped from the open front door.
down and saw for the first time the wiry body of Sister Ameal. It was an odd
name for a nun, so I looked it up. I spent a lot of time in the library. I mean
when you were threatened there at least they whispered.
a parish in Coimbra, Portugal. Maybe she was originally from that country, To
me, she did not look Portuguese, but I was hardly a world traveler … at least
“Time is not a line but a dimension, like the
dimensions of space. If you can bend space, you can bend time also, and if you
knew enough and could move faster than light you could travel backward in time
and exist in two places at once.”
I have been struggling with the last novel in my DARK HOLLYWOOD series for nearly a year now.
I decided to try Mark Twain's remedy and start writing an entirely new novel.
Set in early WWII New Orleans, my story can tap into already researched material.
Think of it as FRINGE meets BAND OF BROTHERS.
In two days, I have written over 3000 words.
Sister Ameal slapped me aside the head and tugged me into the library with a jerk of iron
fingers around my left arm. The slap had been a hard one, too. Sister Ameal was
not a soft anything. Of course, Miss Mayfair saw the whole thing. I sighed. I
did not have bad luck, mind you, just strange luck. It still sucked
make Miss Mayfair smile though, so it was not a complete loss. Her smiles were
something to see. I never saw eyes so green or hair such a color … strawberry
blonde I believe they called it.
was smitten. She was not that much older than I was. Dreams, fragile things
though they are, were all you had to get you through a place like St. Marok’s. There
are so many fragile things when you think about it. People break so easily, and
so do dreams … and hearts.
our dreams carefully deep inside us so that when they are crushed no one sees
the bleeding but ourselves. And our hearts? They are the lonely graveyards for
all the dreams that could have been … but weren’t. Perhaps that is why Sister
Ameal seldom smiles. The weight of memory keeps the corners of her lips down.
overheard Headmaster Stearns speak of me to the last librarian:
were to try and pick him out of a group of boys, you’d be wrong. He’d be the
other one. Over at the side. The one your eye slipped over.”
all right. To be noticed at St. Marok’s was to die … not young … you aged
quickly at this place ,,, but to die before you could get the hell out of here.
I don’t know
why I bother telling you any of this. No one gets the emotional jolt from
hearing your life story as you did living it. They hear the details, not all of course, for nothing
bores a person so much as hearing the dregs of another’s hurts.
don’t get how the death of one dream, the stinging betrayal of one hope, can
color, not just one day, but a whole life. Unless it is their dream, their
hope, their life.
me get back to Miss Mayfair’s smile. It is worth getting back to, and its
memory warmed many a bleak day for me.
smiled wider. “So, this is the young man to whom I owe my rescue?”
my head. “I just pointed out that Mr. Stearns lied about you not being here,
ma’am. It was your father and a few of his men that did all the heavy lifting.”
flinched as if this might have been one of the first times she’d been called “ma’am.”
I felt much the same way some time later when I had been called “sir.”
Of course, I had been posing as someone much older. But I am getting ahead of
myself. That happens a lot when you travel through time.
claim that I was a madman, and some think that I was just a man with very
special powers. But they all miss the point. Whatever I was … and am, I changed
the world … or Sentient did through me.
dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dark caverns of their minds,
wake in the day to find that it was but fluff. But the dreamers of the day are
dangerous men, for they act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them
I am a
dangerous man … and Sentient even more so for not being a man.
Mayfair obviously saw none of that as her smile warmed. “How old are you, Mr.
quickly held up a long-fingered hand. “No, don’t tell me. It does not matter,
for I hear Stearns held you back in school two years running for some imagined
slight or other.”
felt the slights were not so imagined. I could have a sharp tongue. I never
lost sleep over that fact.
fingers became a contemplative nest for her chin. “Stearns, even Sister Ameal,
say they can never recall your face once you leave them.”
her head. “I do not see how that is possible. Your hair seems all colors, a
grove of trees in autumn, deep brown, and wine-red.”
Mayfair chucked softly, ”An untrimmed tangle across the top of your head. Your
cheeks pale without being anemic. Full lips eternally in an amused smile at
some jest only you hear. You look like a friend; like someone you have known
all your life.”
Ameal looked as uncomfortable as I felt. I was reconsidering applying for this
job. Then, I reminded myself that often we don’t see things as they are, but as
we are … or what our needs are.
do not have enough facts to understand life. Not really. The word “illusion”
comes from the Latin “illude,” which means to mock or to deceive.
an optical illusion about every person we meet. There is no ‘us’ and ‘them.’
It’s an illusion. We are all human beings.
except for Sentient.
made it this far at St. Marok’s through luck and pluck. I was running about a
quart low on pluck. And Luck was merely another illusion, trusted by the
ignorant and chased by the foolish. I tried to be neither one.
It was that moment between waking and dream. I was sitting on my apartment terrace. The night spoke to me in its velvet silence.
Owl happily was not speaking my name. He perched on the cypress branch opposite me, studying me as I was admiring him.
Brother raccoon scurried into the bushes below, carrying some prize in his front right paw.
My ghost cat, Gypsy, twitched her tail on the window sill, the mysteries of ages whispering in her half-closed, green eyes.
My own eyes were heavy. Too many miles driven. Too few hours slept.
I put the period to the last sentence of my blog post about Marlene Dietrich with the troops in the front lines during WWII :
** One afternoon after VE Day, she was walking through a little French village. All around her was rubble, and she couldn't understand why -- all the buildings along the street were still standing with curtains blowing frilly and snapping clean-crisp in their windows.
Then, she looked through one of the windows to see that there was nothing behind it. The fronts of the buildings were still standing, but everything behind them had been destroyed. There wasn't a single living person past the false fronts of those caricature buildings.
Only one lone doll lay forlorn in the rubbled middle of nothing.
With her face cupped in trembling hands, she stood in front of that window, weeping silently, refusing to be comforted ...
"... for there is no comfort for the dead," she whispered. **
Beside me a husky voice intoned, "Keine Komfort für die Toten."
I went cold and still, sliding my eyes as far to the right as they could go without moving my head. My mouth became salt.
In a frilly black night wrap and not much else.
She was perched over the top of a wavering, insubstantial leather chair like a cougar ready to strike.
"You write so beautifully of me. Why?"
"Y-You were brave, selfless -- entertaining the troops on the front lines with a death sentence from Hitler on your head."
I cleared my fear-thick throat. "People have forgotten that."
She reached out and stroked my cheek with chill fingers.
"It is not important for the world to remember me -- only that I did not forget myself when I was needed."
"And words like that are why I write of you."
Marlene fluffed my hair with ghost fingers. It tickled.
"Do you know what they call you in the ShadowLands, liebling?"
"Sänger von Träumen -- DreamSinger."
"I - I don't understand."
Her ice blue eyes hollowed. "One day you will."
In ghost whispers, she murmured, "Death and love."
"I thought I knew them, liebchen. I was so sure. I died. Then, I saw life with new eyes."
She leaned forward, her eyes suddenly sparkling. "See you in your dreams, liebling."
And like a cloud robbing me of sunlight, Marlene was gone. I was alone. Well, not quite.
Gypsy, my ghost cat, was in my lap, yawning. It takes a lot to shake up the granddaughter of Bast.
Book 4: Victor Standish risks all reality to bring back from the dead those he loves.
WOLF HOWL HAS HIS OWN BLOG!
VISIT IF YOU DARE
THE LAST SHAMAN AUDIO BOOK!
Mankind's time is nearly up. Can the last Lakota shaman save the soul of the assassin he loves before the end?
Let Heather McCorkle design covers and promo materials for you. You will be amazed.
Sometimes it is death, not life, that brings us love
A GHOSTLY WRITING MANUAL
Twain, Hemingway, Lovecraft & More!
An Age Is Ending & Ancient Evil Returning
Like PENNY DREADFUL? This is for you.
A SUPERNATURAL LONGMIRE
In Egypt, the dead never rest easy
NO ONE HEARS THE SCREAMS IN SILENT FILMS
An isolated Hollywood film crew is hunted by Nightmare
A SAMPLER OF MY HEROES
Mysteries Explained, Secrets Exposed
The Origin of Toomey Starks!
Hellhounds were never this much fun! Only $4!
VOODOO & LOVE IN THE FRENCH QUARTER
Now available in PRINT!
FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE AUDIO BOOK!
The supernatural predators come out after Katrina. Can two undead legends stop them?
AFTER KATRINA, THERE IS NONE BUT TWO TO STOP THE UNDEAD
ONLY $1.99 WHEN YOU BUY THE KINDLE BOOK!
LISTEN to GHOST OF A CHANCE
Can an author be drawn into his own fictional world and killed by his own characters?
HIBBS HAS FOUND HIS VOICE!
A tale of enchantment
Souls At The Crossroads
Where do you need to be?
THE DEADLIEST ENEMY IS WITHIN
What if Stephen King wrote of the life of a blood courier?
Listen to this haunting tale of horror and love
It is 1853. An undead Texas Ranger is on board a cursed ship in search of a murderer who is wearing the face of her last victim as a mask.
Listen to the LAST FAE
When the world is mad, there is little else to do but show them what true insanity is!
Can a man marry both the moon and the sun?
In the eclipse of myth, he can
What Defense is an innocent soul against the Powers of Darkness?
Let Hibbs, the cub with no clue, show you
Before Indiana Jones or Allan Quartermain
There was Sam McCord and his doomed love for Meilori Shinseen
Alice and Victor in 1834 New Orleans
Do a review and have a 1 in 13 chance to win a Johnny Depp autograph!
Buy_FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE
Hurricane Katrina has cast New Orleans into darkness. Predators, living and undead, close in on the helpless survivors. Can Samuel McCord and a vampire priest keep the French Quarter from being drowned in blood?
Buy_LET THE WIND BLOW THROUGH YOU
Enter the dangerous world of a Native American Noir thriller where forbidden love clashes with the politics of crime
You will never see the end coming
In his beginning is his end
My 1st SERIAL TRILOGY continues
There are none so lost as those who refuse to see
The 1st SERIAL TRILOGY!
In the dark, we are all orphans
In Memoriam - Maukie my cyber friend
RITES OF PASSAGE link
The earliest Samuel McCord adventure: Dare to board a fantasy Titanic as it sails into the Bermuda Triangle
BOOK 1: No one talks openly of the misty figures seen walking along New Orleans' iron-laced terraces, casting no shadow. Of the shapes seen rising from sewer grates. And no one willingly visits the crypt of Marie Laveau at midnight. Into this strange world arrives the street orphan, Victor Standish, from Charon's Greyhound. Charon has to keep up with the times ... the End Times. And the teen destined to be called the "Ulysses of the French Quarter" has come just in time for Hurricane Katrina, the End of All Things ... and the deadly love of the Victorian ghoul, Alice Wentworth.
VICTOR AND ALICE ARE BACK!
BOOK 2: Victor's a street kid. Alice is a Victorian ghoul Their love breaks the chain of reason. Their new adventures bring the French Quarter back from the brink of nightmare.
BOOK 3: Victor & Alice are in the French Quarter of 1834. Voodoo. Demigods. Revenants. And the hilarious Menage a Trois of Death! Oh, and someone we love dies at the end.
END OF DAYS is here!
St. Marrok's. The most eerie high school in which you will ever die. Its curriculum? The End of Days. Alice Wentworth plans to get an A+.
ADRIFT IN THE TIME STREAM link
SEQUEL to RITES OF PASSAGE: Come aboard the doomed DEMETER with undead Texas Ranger, Sam McCord, and sail with her into the depths of madness in ADRIFT IN THE TIME STREAM.
SEQUEL to FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE: The dead rise. Elder Beings strain to enter our world through Katrina devastated New Orleans. And the Angel of Death is kidnapped to clear their way. Can Sam McCord stem the tide of madness in time?
Buy_THE LAST FAE
Once there was an age undreamed where legends walked this earth … and nightmares, too. Terrible were the battles, tragic the outcome of the wars. Until finally there were only two survivors : the nightmare and one bruised legend. These are the legend’s stories, each one a different facet of the same priceless gem – a jewel that has come to believe herself worthless. So come. Listen to her. Listen to THE LAST FAE.
GHOST OF A CHANCE
What if what you wrote became real?
When dreams are sacrificed, it is the soul that burns.
CHECK OUT THE FUN!
Explore if you dare
Buy_THE LAST SHAMAN
Journey with the last Lakota shaman, Wolf Howl. The white govenments call him Drew August. Those who hunt him call him Death. The last day of Man has dawned. Watch as Wolf Howl turns to meet his human hunters. Shadow, the love of his life, returns to aid his hunters. Then, Mankind's death descends. Can he save Shadow before the world's time runs out?
BRING ME THE HEAD OF McCORD!
Only 99 cents. C'mon. Take a chance.
GHOST WRITERS IN THE SKY
LEARN TO WRITE BETTER AND LAUGH ALONG THE WAY
LAST EXIT TO BABYLON
At the dawn of the End of All Things, the Last Fae finds there is no hope ... but love.
IT'S HERE TO BUY!!
The trilogy concludes. Not even the eclipse of myth is forever. But love is. And eclipses return. Listen. The voice of Blake, son of Man, is calling across the night skies.
Buy THE PATH BACK TO DAWN
Only in the eclipse of myth can a young man find himself with both the Moon and the Sun as his brides. Can he survive what follows?
Buy_LOVE LIKE DEATH
From the pages of THE LAST FAE springs this paranormal romance/thriller. Fallen, the last fae, discovers the name of the young teenager to whom she lost her heart : Blake Adamson.But she also discovers what happens when you believe your fears over your love : heartache and loss. And so Blake Adamson finds himself torn between two loves : one fae, the other an alien drinker of souls. Their love is deadly, but love, like death, will have its way.
THE BEAR WITH 2 SHAD0WS link
Based on the stories my Lakota mother told me as a child when I was deathly ill in a freezing Detroit basement apartment. Think a Native American LORD OF THE RINGS.
FROM THE GREAT BEYOND HOP!
You dare not miss it!!
LISTEN TO THE CDC
THE WORLDS OF ROLAND YEOMANS
Donna Hole astonishes with her insights on my linked worlds
FANTASTIC REVIEW OF THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH
Michael Di Gesu does a masterful review. I am honored by his friendship
LIFE LESSONS taught me by GYPSY
Dedicated to GYPSY
Have Wendy make your book into a trailer that wows the reader!
HELP THE HURTING
100% of the profits for ALL my books this FEBRUARY are going to THE SALVATION ARMY. My Valentine's gift to the hurting.
Buy_BLOOD WILL TELL
One lone telepath finds himself a helpless spectator as the race of Man is subjugated into mindless drones by the very blood within their bodies.When the war is over, and he finds himself totally alone ... How can he go on and why?
CALL ME TOMBS
The last Lakota Heyoka faces voodoo and ultimate evil in the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania with his Hellhound, Puppy
BLOG TOUR FOR ALEX J, CAVANAUGH'S NEWEST NOVEL
The Norse Gods Are Watching You!
NERDY IS THE NEW SEXY!
BECOME A JEDI KNIGHT FOR TEENS
THE SECRET OF SPRUCE KNOLL
Help save the endangered species of Earth by buying THE SECRET OF SPRUCE KNOLL!
AMAZON KEEPS SELLING OUT!
Written by the author who could very well turn out to be the new William Faulkner, Elliot Grace
FABULOSITY GALORE bookstore
Visit an online bookstore and help a blogging friend!!